


Let Us Too Yield

by takadainmate



Category: Young Avengers
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:08:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takadainmate/pseuds/takadainmate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped and hurt, all Billy wants is to protect Teddy. And maybe come out of this alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Us Too Yield

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the usual suspects, [](http://gnine.livejournal.com/profile)[**gnine**](http://gnine.livejournal.com/) for the encouragement and [](http://cienna.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://cienna.livejournal.com/)**cienna** for the beta!

Magic, Billy thinks, is a lot like homework.

Sometimes you forget it’s there.

A whole lot of the time you get it wrong because there’s no one there to tell you when you’ve messed up until it’s too late and you end up getting a fail.

It’s unpredictable. One week you get seven essays, the next week you get none. And sometimes it even makes sense in his head.

But it’s always there, in the background, just waiting to mess up your weekend.

So, it’s Saturday- probably still Saturday- and Billy had had _plans_. There was going to be pizza and maybe a movie and Teddy. There’s still Teddy, but the pizza and the movie are definitely out now. Out like his belief that there was nothing the Avengers couldn't do. Out like a light. Out like-

“Can you…” Teddy is saying, and his voice is low and muffled and weird. Not the I’ve-changed-my-vocal-chords weird, but my-head-has-gone-maybe-wrong weird. Billy focuses. Kind of focuses. “…a little more. Just…”

He’s pushing outwards with that magic which is like homework; the kind Billy knows he can’t do but will try anyway because you always get at least a couple points for effort. Maybe it’s even working because Teddy is encouraging, “That’s it, Billy. You’re doing great…” even if Billy doesn't _feel_ like he’s doing great.

He feels like crap.

There’s a sick hollowness in his stomach that is about a billion times worse than even the worst times Billy’s had the crap beaten out of him. Everything hurts, and not like bruises or cuts or scrapes, but a bone-deep ache that is somehow tied into his magic.

What do you call it, Billy wonders, when your magic is sick? Magic-flu? And more importantly, could Billy get away with taking a day off school with it?

“Concentrate,” Teddy snaps, his voice suddenly loud and clear. Warm breath strokes along Billy’s ear and Billy realises how close he must be. How close they are. Why they're so close. Why everything hurts. Why it's so dark and Teddy's eyes are wide and scared in the thick gloom. What he’s supposed to be doing. Right. Yes. Holding the roof up.

Billy concentrates, tries to find the outer extent of his magic but mostly just finds thoughts that don’t seem to match up, nerve-endings insisting he _move, move, get away, get free_. And he finds Teddy. Teddy who is hunched over Billy, one hand resting lightly on Billy’s forehead, the other pressed against his side hard enough to hurt.

It’s distracting. More distracting than homework. Which, to be fair, isn't hard. But also more distracting than magic, which _is_ hard and obviously not a good thing because the instant his mind wanders from _hold up the roof, hold up the roof, hold up the roof_ to _Teddy, Teddy, Teddy_ everything above them _shifts_ and suddenly there’s a whole new level of pain.

"Billy. _Billy_ ," he hears, even above the scraping and screeching of metal against metal and crumbling stone. He remembers this from a video game, once, his character crushed as a mine caved in around him and wow, that kind of accuracy showed a kind of dedication even Billy thinks might have been excessive.

There's no mine, here, but where once there was a building there is now just Billy and Teddy and ruins.

Not a metaphor for his life. Not at all.

"If you die," Teddy is saying, a low growl that actually sounds a lot like the real Hulk. "If you die, I swear I will break up with you."

Billy blinks and for an instant he forgets how much everything hurts and how they're going to die here and he's only sixteen and there are so many things he hasn't done yet. Billy wishes there was more light so he could see Teddy better. He always wants to see Teddy. There's too much dust in his eyes and they're heavy and sore and it's hard to keep them open, but Teddy is staring down at him and there is so much there, written on his face, that Billy doesn't want to look away. Teddy's hand, warm and rough, strokes across his cheek. It's impossible not to reach up, no matter how much effort, to touch the tips of his fingers to Teddy's chin. He's green beneath all the dust and dirt staining his skin, bigger than he usually tends to keep his shape, and Billy finds himself running his fingers across Teddy's lips. It's easier to concentrate on their warmth than on how hard it is to breathe. His lips are dry and cracked. He would conjure water, if he had the strength.

"They'll find us," Teddy tells him urgently, lips moving under Billy's touch. "They'll know something as lame as a stupid derelict apartment block couldn't kill us." Teddy smiles, but it's not real, Billy thinks.

The rest of the team could be dead too. Their friends. All dead.

Maybe Billy panics, or maybe it's just an instinctual reaction but at the thought something churns in his stomach, hot and _angry_ and his magic crackles across his skin like blue fire. It illuminates everything, turns the stone above them to something that looks more like the sky, split by dark cracks.

Teddy holds his face, draws his attention. "No," he's saying. "Billy, stop."

Above him Teddy is gritting his teeth like he's in pain, Billy's magic dancing over his shoulders. He hisses when it touches him. The magic, Billy realises, _hurts_ him.

Frantically, Billy tries to rein it in, tries to concentrate, pull it away, stop it. Together, he and Teddy spent long hours trying to work out Billy's magic; reading stupid visualisation books and listening to ridiculous meditation tapes that ended in them howling with laughter and forgetting what they were supposed to be doing. And then they would look at each other and maybe there would be kissing and Billy's magic is _not supposed to hurt Teddy_.

His magic curls away rebelliously but Billy pushes it away, draws it in. The way Teddy hisses, tries to hide it, won't let go of Billy even when the magic lances across his hands like electricity is incentive enough.

"Sorry," Billy gasps. "I'm sorry," and even though he hasn't quite gotten a hold of it all, Teddy still shushes him and leans closer and presses their lips together. Too briefly, because it's over almost before Billy can be distracted by it, but it's enough that Billy can finally focus.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time; collapse a wall on the monstrous genetically mutated or extraterrestrial or failed government experiment or whatever creature they were fighting. Slow it down. Maybe knock it out. Billy had no doubt it could take it. Nothing else they'd done had so much as made a scratch on its thick, black hide. What looked like armour plating protected its head and its eyes and its jaws were huge, fast, filled with teeth as long as his arm. Those sharp teeth had already taken a bite out of Eli and Billy wasn't about to let it do any one of them any more damage.

It had been instinct; reaction. An opportunity that Billy had to take. And it had worked. Except then-

"It's okay," Teddy was saying. He laughed a little breathlessly and Billy wished for more air. Maybe it worked because the strain in his lungs seemed suddenly less, the dizziness not so bad. "I should be used to it, right?"

Billy frowns.

"Sometimes," Teddy grins, "you spark in your sleep."

"Do not," Billy grumbles.

"Sorry, but it's true."

He doesn't sound even the tiniest bit sorry, Billy thinks. It's dark enough again that it's hard to see Teddy's face, but Billy still knows. He knows too that Teddy is trying to distract him. Everything is such a mess- from the way everything feels twisted up in his gut and his limbs feel torn to pieces Billy suspects _he's_ a mess- that it would be easy to let himself not think about anything be the warmth of Teddy, his touch as he sweeps dirt and hair from Billy's forehead.

Billy sighs. "We have to… get out of here." His voice sounds kind of pathetic, wheezy, and Billy wonders if he's ever been this bad before. Maybe this is his tragic hero death scene and he's going to die in Teddy's arms which is one hell of a lot less romantic than popular fiction would have him believe when he's the one potentially doing the dying. And Billy really doesn't want to do that to Teddy. They haven't even known each other all that long and they're only just starting to learn all those little annoying things about each other and how they fit together and how much it hurts to think that this might not be forever. Or, okay, realistically at least another eighty years. So yeah. They have to get out of here.

Teddy shifts, lowers his head so that his bangs hang in front of his face. "Yeah." A long pause. "I can't help. I can't do anything."

It sounds like it hurts for him to say that. Like he's ashamed, or something.

"I got us… into this." Talking hurts, makes his throat ache. His mouth is too dry. But Teddy needs to hear it.

Teddy shakes his head. "You were trying to save us."

"Building still fell on us," Billy points out. Then, more quietly, "I don't know how long I can…"

"You wouldn't answer me," Teddy cuts in and at least he's meeting Billy's eyes again. "I thought maybe you were… but then I could see your magic and you weren't even awake so it's cool. It must be, like, instinct to protect yourself."

Billy turns his head to the side, wincing as his scalp scrapes over hard, sharp edges. If he reached out just a little way he could touch the edges of the space they inhabit. There is a familiar haze over the arch of concrete and metal and brick that encloses them and now that Billy thinks about it he can feel the push-pull of his power.

"And you," he says, and sometimes Billy realises all over again how awesome it is to have this kind of gift. "I can…" The words catch in Billy's throat and he has to cough and it feels like someone's gone at his chest with sandpaper and a vice until he's panting and his eyes are wide and he can't get enough air and Billy thinks he can taste blood. And ,oh god, this really is going to be his heroic dramatic end. Even though he's barely even done anything heroic yet.

Teddy is there- of course he's there- telling him it's okay, he's going to be okay, to just breathe. It's hard to feel anything but the weight on his chest, the squeezing and squeezing, but Billy is certain Teddy is holding his neck, is kissing his cheek and the side of his mouth.

"Bill," Teddy says, and his voice sounds small and wrecked and Billy doesn't think he's ever heard Teddy sound like that before. He doesn't want Teddy to sound like that.

He fights, tries to calm his breathing, tries to swallow down everything that aches and pulls until Billy is left shivering, panting.

"I'm here," Teddy says, and he brushes a hand carefully through Billy's hair. "I'm here." Which Billy already knows, but he's too tired to argue. If he were anywhere else, if this were anywhere else he would just want to go to sleep, to let go and let Teddy take care of him. But without help, they're not getting out of here unless Billy does something about it. And he got them into this.

"M'okay," he tries to tell Teddy, but isn't certain his words are comprehensible until Teddy replies, "You really aren’t."

Considering how much everything hurts and how his head won’t stop spinning Teddy’s probably right. But he’s alive, and Teddy’s alive and that’s good enough for now. Slowly, the unconscious magic Billy’s thrown up around them both will drain him. If he’s going to do something, he needs to do it now.

“M’okay enough.” Billy smiles up at Teddy. Or, at least, where he’s pretty sure Teddy is. His vision is kind of unfocused, the dim light of his magic casting weird shadowy reflection things that confuse Billy. Teddy frowns in reply.

“I’ll… get us out of here.”

Billy is already gathering his strength, forming the words in his head, visualising where he wants to be- _not here not here not here_ \- and he can hear Teddy saying, “Wait, Billy, don’t…” but he can fix this. Magic builds and it’s like ice in his chest, like sharp hooks pulling all over his skin in a way it’s never been before. Billy keeps going; he can almost feel it, just out of reach, that point when he knows something has changed- that he’s changed something.

The air tastes of electricity. He’s nauseous and has to swallow several times to stop himself puking all over Teddy. He has to squeeze his eyes closed. Concentrate. He doesn’t know why but Billy notices his fingers are cold. Freezing. Like ice-

And it’s really not good to think about ice when he’s trying to transport them; _not here not ice not here not ice_ , he tries.

He thinks he hears Teddy telling him to _stop, he doesn’t need to do this, he’s hurting himself_. But Billy almost has it and he can hear reality shifting past his ears, can almost reach out and find freedom. Then something presses down on his side, a sudden heavy weight, hard, and reality becomes nothing but _agony_.

There’s no thought other than _make it stop make it stop_ and why the hell can’t his magic help him with _this_ because everything just keeps hurting, heat and sharp, clawing pain emanating out from somewhere just above his hip.

When Billy can make sense of anything other than panic, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands, and _oh God oh God oh God_ , the first thing he hears is Teddy’s voice, even if he can’t make out the words. He sounds frantic, and Billy gets that. Every time they get into a fight with the bad guys there’s always this sick feeling in Billy’s stomach at the thought of Teddy getting hurt. Or worse. Sometimes, late at night in the darkness of his room Billy wakes hot and cold and covered in sweat and he knows exactly what he’d been dreaming about.

“Just...” Billy tries to reassure him but he can’t seem to get any more words out. Maybe it’s enough though because Teddy presses his face into Billy’s neck and repeats, “Jesus. Jesus.”

“Not m’name,” Billy jokes. It’s lame, but it’s enough to get Teddy huffing a laugh, his breath warm against Billy’s skin. Billy shivers, and kind of wishes he hadn’t noticed how cold he is.

“That’s what you have to say for yourself?” Teddy asks. Billy feels arms tightening around him, Teddy pressing closer. “I think you just gave me a heart attack. I’m too young to have heart attacks.”

“Imma... bad boyfriend,” Billy manages agreeably.

“Yeah,” Teddy agrees, his voice muffled. “You are.”

Teddy shifts and Billy grits his teeth as the movement jostles him. Keeping absolutely still is better. Keeping absolutely still makes everything hurt less. But then Teddy’s face is so close that Billy’s eyes cross. There’s a fierce expression on the face.

“Don’t _ever_ do that to me again.”

"'ll try," Billy promises. They're heroes now and Billy's been in more life and death situations in the past month than he's ever been in all the very boring and non life-threatening sixteen years of his life before that. He's seen the kind of villains the Avengers take on. He's seen how they've suffered and been hurt and died. It would be a lie to promise he'd always be okay.

For a long time they stay like that; Teddy holding onto him, just breathing the thin air, bathed in the soft blue of magic, and Billy tries not to think. He tries not to think about how this is his fault and how he failed to get them out and about how they're buried alive and there's no space in here and how it's too hot and too cold at the same time.

 _Breathe,_ he tells himself, and wonders if maybe this is a spell too.

Billy's running low on reserves, starting to feel the weight of all that concrete and stone and whatever his magic is holding back. He considers trying to magic just Teddy away but doesn't think that that would be any easier than transporting both of them. And Teddy would never forgive him.

He's tired; too tired to keep his eyes open anymore so he lets them close. He doesn't need to keep his eyes open to stay awake, Billy tells himself. It's not like he's comfortable enough to sleep like this, with stones digging into his back and dry dust in his mouth and the ever-present pain just _there_ , sometimes bad, sometimes better, but always worse than even the very worst beatings he's taken at school.

"Hey," Teddy says, and his voice is loud enough to startle Billy. Or maybe, okay, yeah, he was probably falling asleep after all.

Billy grunts in response but doesn't want to open his eyes.

"Billy," Teddy demands. "No quitting on me."

 _Why not?_ Billy wants to ask. They're going to die here and it's his fault and he deserves this. But Teddy doesn't.

He feels a palm pressed against his cheek, feels Teddy inching impossibly closer.

"Please," he hears.

How the hell is Billy supposed to ignore that?

It still kind of shocks Billy sometimes how much Teddy loves him. How easy it is to believe that Teddy loves him and _wants_ him to always be there. It should be scary, Billy sometimes thinks, but he loves Teddy so much it never is.

What scares him is that they'll lose this. That something will go wrong, or years down the line he'll lose this feeling; this _thing_ between them that makes Billy never want to let go of Teddy, that hurts and is incredible and sometimes leaves Billy feeling like an obsessed creeper.

"M'here." Billy says, and wishes he didn't sound so breathless and croaky and not at all sexy. No one ever sounded like that in movies when they were dying tragically. And Billy is certain now that he is dying. There's something wrong with his side, and something wrong with his legs, and everything is starting to feel cold and numb, even with Teddy wrapped around him. The pain is fading into something more like background noise. Or maybe Billy's just gotten used to it. It's kind of a relief, anyway, even though it probably shouldn't be.

"Cool," Teddy says and strokes his face and his fingers are warm. "Just stay that way, okay? They'll come get us. Someone will find us." He sounds certain.

Billy has always wondered at how Teddy can be so optimistic, so honestly positive that everything is always going to work out. With everything they've seen and everything that's happened to them he doesn't know how Teddy manages to cling to that hope.

Maybe it's catching because if Billy didn't still believe there was any hope they'd be saved he would have let go, withdrawn his magic and let the weight of the wreckage crush them. It would be quick; quicker than this slow death. But he doesn't.

Billy doesn't think he could ever do that to Teddy. It would be like a betrayal. It would be less time that they could have together, no matter how much it hurts Billy to keep going. How claustrophobic he's starting to feel. How trapped.

He can feel his magic faltering.

"You can do this, Billy," Teddy says, like he knows Billy is wavering. "Just a little longer."

Or a lot longer. Or forever.

And you know what? Billy will fight, and he'll do everything he can to his last breath because that's what heroes do. That's what Teddy would want him to do, even if he'd never actually ask.

"Missed… th'movie," Billy slurs, and Teddy kisses the side of his mouth like an apology.

"We'll go tomorrow," Teddy promises.

"Dunno if… available." He hasn't done any of his homework for Monday and if his mom finds out she might ground him for a year. And then there's the problem that his insides feel messed up, and his outsides don't feel much better. Billy wonders if he can heal himself. He's never tried that before, only healing other people. It feels like it shouldn't be allowed. Like it's cheating somehow.

"What?" Teddy asks, mock-offended. "Is your diary too busy to fit me in? Do you have some other guy you're meeting?"

"Three," Billy nods slowly, carefully. "Got a'harem."

Teddy laughs. The sound is a little short-breathed and rough, like Teddy's throat is sore. Billy guesses the dust must be getting to him too. But even then, Billy has always loved the sound of Teddy's laugh and he can't help smiling. It pulls at the dry skin of his lips and Teddy must notice because the next thing Billy knows there's a wet thumb running across his mouth.

He could have just _kissed_ him.

"I really hope not," Teddy says, and he sounds almost serious.

"Harem o'one?" Billy offers.

"Better," Teddy agrees. He sighs, but his breath catches and this time Teddy coughs. It sounds like it hurts and Billy wishes he had the strength to reach up and hold Teddy the same way Teddy had him. It's almost too much just opening his eyes and when he does everything is out of focus and confused, like his brain can't work out what he's seeing.

He's certain it's Teddy hunched over him. Certain Teddy's face is turned away, head down and Billy thinks, _make Teddy okay, make Teddy okay, make Teddy okay_. Maybe it even works because Teddy takes in a breath and doesn't cough again. The air does taste better. It's easier to breathe.

It hits Billy then that he never asked if Teddy was okay. If he was hurt too. He’d seemed okay, and Billy isn’t exactly thinking clearly, but he should’ve _made sure_.

He never gets the chance. Even if he can't see straight, Billy can tell the instant Teddy notices the change in the air too because he rounds on Billy, his face hovering close again. Probably glaring.

"You used your magic." Teddy makes it sound like an accusation.

"Might've," Billy replies honestly, because he's not entirely sure he did. Ignoring all evidence to the contrary.

Teddy hisses through his teeth. "You need to save your strength."

Billy would argue, _Strength is no good to me if I can't breathe_ , but he doesn't have the energy for the fight so he hums a noncommittal reply and hopes that Teddy will let it go.

If they are about to die horribly Billy doesn't want to spend his last minutes arguing.

Teddy gets it. Somehow he always understands, and that’s another kind of amazing thing about his boyfriend that Billy is not at all smug about. Above him, Teddy relaxes, goes back to pushing Billy’s hair back from his face, his other hand wrapping around the back of Billy’s head, thumb stroking comforting lines against his neck. It’s not so bad like this, Billy thinks.

“Just…” Teddy says. “Don’t give up on me.”

“Nev’r,” Billy promises, and wishes he could tell Teddy that there was no way he ever could. That he’d kind of do anything if Teddy asked him. And if he could work out how to use his powers properly.

So he listens when Teddy starts telling him the story of how he saw Tony Stark on the street once. There’s a story about how as a kid Teddy sometimes couldn’t help changing into someone else when he became upset and it freaked out his Mom, made her scared. He told Billy the story of how he met a mutant like him this one time and thought he was the hottest guy he’d ever seen and nearly- literally- turned into a puddle of goo every time he talked to him.

Billy can’t tell how much time has passed now but his magic is fading with every minute longer they’re trapped, blue dimming around them, the rubble above them shifting and crumbling as the barrier contracts. It’s so heavy, Billy starting to feel breathless from the exertion rather than the thin air.

“Wha’s ‘is name?” Billy asks.

No pause, not a hint of doubt. “Billy,” Teddy says. “His name is Billy.”

As if Billy might not have gotten the point Teddy kisses him, this time on the mouth. It’s just a gentle press of lips, too dry, but a promise of more. Teddy tangles their fingers together, laying his head down on the ground beside Billy, close enough that Billy can feel puffs of air against his cheek. It's distracting, in a good way. Something to focus on when all Billy wants to do is sleep. So long as Teddy is breathing, a slow, steady in and out, Billy will fight. Even as his eyes close won't open any more, no matter how much he wants to see Teddy. Even if his lungs feel constricted, like he's half drowning, and it's becoming hard to draw in enough air.

Teddy's hand tightens around Billy's, and Billy tries to squeeze back. He tries to understand what Teddy is saying when he starts talking again but it's too jumbled, too distant, which doesn't make any sense because Billy knows that Teddy is right there, next to him.

He thinks he hears rocks grinding together somewhere above him, feels dust falling onto his face. Light fingers brush it away.

Billy knows he's losing. His magic is failing. _He's_ failing.

So he wishes with everything he has left, _I want us to live, I want us to live, I want us to live, I want us to live,_ and doesn't stop until he has nothing more to give.

***

It's too bright, is the first thing Billy thinks. It's bad enough that his first thought is to wish the brightness away, but when he tries to speak a spell the words stick in his throat and it comes out more of an undignified kind of wheeze.

Billy frowns and turns his head away instead. The movement hurts his neck, makes his head spin weirdly, like when he's been sitting in front of his computer for way too long and hasn't thought to eat or drink or move for hours.

There's a pillow under his head, soft and fluffy, but too clean. Not home. Not his bed. Not Teddy's either. And now that he's trying to open his eyes and see where the hell he is Billy finds it's _hard_ , like someone has taped his eyes closed. And now that he thinks about it Billy realises his entire body feels heavy, weighted down. There's a sick feeling in his stomach, not quite nausea but definitely not good, and his hands itch and his chest aches and Billy can't think _why_.

Then, something shifts beside him, sighing softly in sleep. It's a sound, a shape and warmth, that Billy would recognise anywhere; Teddy. If Teddy's here they must be okay. Everything must be okay. Everything must be very okay because Teddy's fingers are laced with Billy's and Billy can feel Teddy's nose pressing against his shoulder. Teddy never sleeps this heavily, this closely, anywhere other than in their own beds. They must be somewhere safe. Somewhere they can trust, so Billy lets himself relax.

It's easier, hurts less, if Billy lets his mind wander. If he doesn't think about his body it's almost like he can't feel it. He only really cares about the part of him that's touching Teddy anyway, because there he's warm and maybe it's kind of cramped and he can't move but it's cool.

Teddy's palms are dry under his hand. They feel rough, but human-sized, which is strange because Billy is pretty sure Teddy was hulk-sized the last time he saw him. Hulk-sized and covered in dirt and it was dark and he was-

Dying. Oh god. He was dying.

Billy doesn't think he's dying anymore but it's hard to tell because, you know, it's not like dying is something he experiences every day. And then it occurs to Billy that maybe he's _already_ dead and this is a fake-heaven-Teddy. Or worse, _actually_ Teddy because Billy remembers that his magic was dying with him, and there was a building crushing them and no way out and Oh God _Oh God they're dead_.

In the dark, in the crowded space, cold despite Teddy being beside him, Billy hadn’t been able to breathe and suddenly he’s there all over again, constricting lungs and gasping for air. Billy’s fingers grasp at cool sheets, Teddy’s hand, and he forces his eyes open and everything is white-washed and still _too bright_. His muscles ache and his side pulls as he struggles to- Billy doesn’t know what. To get up. To see where he is. To make sure they’re not dead. The pain is real enough, he tries to tell himself, but fear has set in and Billy can’t shake it.

A hero doesn’t freak out like this, he tries to tell himself. Calm down, he tries to _wish_ , but the vague sickness he’d felt earlier threatens to overtake him, to make him gag and oh shit he’s dead and he’s about to puke and everything is too _hot_.

Like before, underground and trapped and powerless, and like before Teddy is there, calling his name and telling him it was okay, and they were okay, they were safe and the team were all safe and they were in the-

“-Avenger’s Tower, Billy.” Teddy’s fingers touch his face and it’s too much like-

“How cool is that? I swear I saw, like, Captain America in just a towel. C’mon, Billy. It’s okay." A pause, hesitation, and then, "Shit. I should get someone."

Then, not like before, Teddy pulls away and that is something Billy _does not want_. He holds onto Teddy's hand as tightly as he can, reaching out to find more of him, and Teddy says, "Okay, okay, I'm here. I'll stay."

Teddy pulls Billy against him, carefully arranging their limbs so they’re wrapped together. Billy holds on, his head pillowed on Teddy’s chest. There are arms around him. He can hear Teddy’s heart, loud and too fast, but there and beating and- yeah- _alive_.

Here, Billy can remember to breathe, can let Teddy hold him and kiss his forehead and rub hands along his arms. There is no wreckage here. No dust clogging up his nose and throat.

Teddy isn't leaving him alone.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, doesn’t know how long it takes for Billy to get a hold of himself. All the while Teddy talks, low and calming, about how Kate and Clint Barton spend all their time arguing, and how Tommy keeps disappearing for long stretches of time and won’t tell anyone where he’s been. Nate and Eli aren’t talking to each other. Again.

“Your parents should be by soon,” Teddy says, and Billy tenses.

“No, no, it’s cool.” Teddy rubs his back reassuringly. “’Course, they freaked at the beginning, but we kind of all did. But now you’re better and it’s all fine.”

There’s a tightness to Teddy’s voice that makes Billy think it really isn’t all fine.

It’s a struggle, tiring, but Billy manages to pry his eyes open, just a little, and he can see Teddy’s t-shirt, stretched over his stomach where Billy is lying against it. He can see Teddy’s legs, stretched out on the bed in front of him. It doesn’t look like a hospital bed. Doesn’t smell like a hospital.

Billy tries to tilt his head to look up at Teddy. It shouldn’t be this hard, he thinks, and is grateful when Teddy takes his head in his hands and helps, like he can tell what Billy’s trying to do. The smile when he looks at Billy is awesome.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hi.” Billy’s voice isn’t much more than a croaked whisper, but for some reason it still makes Teddy’s smile spread even wider.

“Not dead?” Billy thinks he should check.

Teddy shakes his head, rubs the pad of his thumb over Billy’s cheek. “No. You kept us alive.”

It's a relief, to know he didn't fail after all. To know that his magic went _right_ for once.

He tries to reach up and wrap his arms around Teddy in return but something pulls at his hand.

"Careful," Teddy says, and picks up Billy's hand, resting it on his hip. "There. That'll have to do for now."

There's a tube stuck into the back of his hand and now Billy can see it, knows it's there, he can feel fluids being pushed into his veins, cold and slow and uncomfortable. His hand looks inflated and swollen and Billy buries his face in Teddy's t-shirt, not wanting to find out what kind of a mess he's in.

Now he's awake enough to notice, along with the vague stiffness and discomfort, Billy feels kind of gross, gritty, like he hasn't washed in days.

"I'smell," Billy concludes miserably, and Teddy chuckles.

"I don't mind."

Billy prods Teddy in the side. "I do. Gimme 'bath."

"No one," Teddy says, and Billy thinks he sounds a little disappointed, "is going to let me give you a bath, Billy."

"I would," Billy argues. He would. It would be fun, he thinks. More fun than, like, his mom helping him out because as much as he loves her he's not a kid anymore. He's got his pride. He's a hero. Even if he is a hero who's finding it hard to pull his legs up to get more comfortable, tucked against Teddy. Who's maybe finding it hard to stay awake.

It's easier not to fall asleep when Teddy bends down and kisses Billy on the mouth. He moves slowly, carefully, tongue licking along Billy's bottom lip and that is a kiss with _intent_. Teddy kissed him like this before, when Billy thought it would be their last and hated that he didn't even have the strength to kiss back. Now he does- kind of- and he can, and he kisses back. He tries to show Teddy with the way he won't let Teddy pull away that this- being alive and with Teddy- is all he could've asked for. All he did ask for.

After not enough time Billy has to pull away though because something is pulling wrong across his chest and he's getting breathless again. He slumps against Teddy, sighs in frustration, and Teddy rubs his nose against Billy's ear and agrees with a quiet laugh, "Yeah. Me too." Then, more seriously, "But, Billy, I really should get someone. You've barely been awake for, like, a week."

A week. A whole week.

No wonder his parents freaked out.

Billy frowns. To look at Teddy you'd never be able to tell he was ever tired or miserable or upset because he can look however he wants. He's good at hiding things. Too good. Billy hates it and sometimes it makes him kind of angry, like now. Over the time they've been together Billy has learned to recognise Teddy's exhaustion in tension across his shoulders, and his worry in the tightness of his smile.

"You were… here," Billy guesses. Now he looks more closely Billy can see how creased and rumpled Teddy's shirt and shorts are.

Teddy's hold on Billy tightens. "Yeah," he grins. "They couldn't get rid of me."

Billy thinks he gets that, because if Teddy hadn't woken up for a week no one would be able to pry Billy from his side. Not for anything. Not even if they were his dad or Kate or Captain America or came at him with a flame thrower.

"Cool," Billy says. They could stay like this, Billy thinks. It would be easy to fall asleep, and he could be certain that when he wakes up again Teddy will still be there. It's kind of an awesome feeling. Except then Teddy is shifting, carefully sliding out from under him and laying Billy down back onto the crazy-fluffy pillows and Billy grabs hold of his shirt sleeve in protest.

"I'll be right back," Teddy promises.

Maybe it's selfish and childish but Billy doesn't want to see anyone else. He doesn't want to have to deal with anyone or anything that isn't Teddy because he's tired and he hurts and he was _comfortable_ dammit.

Teddy lays his hand over Billy's fingers where he won't let go.

"I promised I'd let them know when you woke up."

"Them," Billy repeats, but he lets go and Teddy leans down and kisses him for his trouble. "The Avenger's Tower, right?"

"Yeah," Teddy nods.

The walls are plain white, undecorated. No pictures hanging. Nothing to indicate where they might be. The furniture isn't like the kind you see in hospitals, but it's nothing particularly high-tech. The blinds are pulled down so that Billy can't see out the windows that run along one wall. The sun filters into the room through cracks in the blinds, creating strips of light like railway tracks across the room and up onto the bed. Teddy pulls a thin white sheet up over Billy's legs, tucks it in around his waist and Billy slaps his hands away. He might be an invalid but he's not _five_.

Teddy smiles sweetly and takes a step back, raising his hands in defeat.

"Okay, okay." His eyes flick somewhere off to the right. "They promised us a tour, so you should get better quickly."

"Do my best," Billy offers. His best right now, though, is quite probably just falling asleep because he can't keep his eyes open any more, no matter how much he wants to. He doesn't even know how they got out; how they were saved. Or how they ended up in the Avenger's Tower. But he trusts Teddy when he says that everyone else is okay, and that's the most important thing.

"You're almost asleep," he hears Teddy sigh. "Now no one's gonna believe you were awake. They're all gonna think I'm crazy."

Billy hums in agreement. "They'd be right."

"Ass," Teddy says, without any bite. Maybe more like fondness. Billy wonders if they'd always been this sappy and decides that yeah, they always had.

"Co'back soon," Billy replies, more a mumble than anything, but Teddy must understand because the last thing Billy knows before he really does fall asleep is Teddy's fingers brushing hair back from his face.

"You know I will," Teddy whispers, then, after a second of hesitation, "'Cause I maybe kind of love you. Just, you know. Maybe."

Billy thinks- hopes- he tells Teddy, "Me too," but everything's kind of fuzzy and dark. This time though there's no uncertainty that he'll ever wake up again. No sick fear in his stomach that Teddy won't be okay, and that's the very best thing Billy could wish for.

**End**


End file.
